


Shades of Draenor: The depths of a forest

by Cazadora, Shaliara



Series: A path of sun and bones [6]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Death Knight, Draenor, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Priest, Warcraft Lore, World of Warcraft: Warlords of Draenor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazadora/pseuds/Cazadora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaliara/pseuds/Shaliara
Summary: "I promise," he told him then, because he thought he could conquer the world.(Set approximately 10 months into the Draenor Campaign)
Relationships: Female Blood Elf | Elves/Male Blood Elf | Elves (Warcraft), Female Undead & Male Undead (Warcraft), Junre/Kalethis Moonspear, Junre/Nyquist Duskfeather (past), Male Blood Elf | Elves/Male Blood Elf | Elves (Warcraft)
Series: A path of sun and bones [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542976





	Shades of Draenor: The depths of a forest

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Laireshi for her beta <3

The dark fumes and the acrid smell were the things that put him on alert. 

A look around and he was there, again, and the clashes of the axes, weaponry, and the heat, the closed space that felt ominous, the other bodies--the moving ones, the quiet. The cacophony of feelings, of voices, that he thought were left behind and then were there again in that underground hell. 

How many days, now? He had lost count a long time ago. The other slaves, lesser races, focused on their task at hand under the look of the Kor'kron Guards and their guardian worgs. 

How many days, now? 

He saw the Dark Shaman speak to that Kor'kron guard, the one with the broken fang. She smiled and pointed to the goblin girl that was around taking meager rations of food to the slaves. 

She had run out of bodies. 

He flexed his hands and was conscious, one more time, that he didn't have anything but his breaches, power unreachable, the magic cuffs preventing it. Not a dangerous foe against the two big orcs, full armor and weapons, that grabbed the girl as she screamed. She saw the chance and bit her captor's hand, who in turn slapped her so hard her body slammed against the wall. Her screams were abruptly cut and the body no longer moved. 

He saw another goblin woman approach her and stir her, the body still. The woman screamed then. A wail that made his own blood run colder than usual. 

He didn't know what changed, then. It had happened before, the violence, the killings. How many days, now? He still didn't know. All motion stopped. All the slaves' eyes were in the orc, a murmur, at first and then every tool could be a weapon and they were rising and facing the oppressors over the dead body of a goblin girl, one among the countless others before. 

Amidst the sounds, the screams, that clear voice, steady, rallying. That voice that had whispered sweet things in his ear, in the cold dead of the night. That voice raised among them in guidance, offering hope.

The Dark Shaman heard it too. 

He ran, and made it into the fight, the wolves, the pain, the Kor'kron that were trying to soak off the sudden riot. He had to focus on the voice, he had to protect it with his life. As it was his life itself, in a way.

He reached him just at the same time he fell, his voice defeated, at the Dark Shaman's feet. 

Everything stopped around him, muffled, as he gathered him into his arms and still heard his voice, but quieter, meant only for him. Still singing a song of hope but also of love and sorrow. 

He heard her laugh, distantly, and then felt her whip in his back, tearing off white skin, making him bleed, once and again and again and again. 

She stopped, eventually. So did the sounds around him, replaced by cold fear and apathy, the sudden burst of hope torn. 

He knelt there, bleeding, and the body on his arms, grew colder and colder, and the sweet whispers faded, not to be heard, again, in the cold of the night, and he wasn't sure if it was him or… 

_How many days, now?_

He woke with a gasp, and when he reached at his back, his hand came out bloody. 

* * *

Talador forest was, aside from the inherent dangers the entire Draenor had, a beautiful and peaceful place at night. Tonight, though, he couldn't care less. He did not have eyes for that right now. 

He stopped in his stride and felt the air, the cold, the hollow space above, over the trees, trying to soak out the memories of heat on that underground place. 

Hell existed and it was below Orgrimmar. 

It had been pitch black when he woke up and in the next seconds it didn't feel like it had been a dream, but he was there again. He felt the cold grip of fear fading slowly, as he would focus on the sounds and smells, different from the ones at the Underhold.

He had to be thankful for the darkness, though. In the dark, none that remained awake in the barracks noticed the distress, the blood on his back that seeped over the sheets. Nobody saw his trembling hands when he changed his soaked shirt and went out, fast, before the walls crumbled over him. 

He had felt like he was drowning. 

He slowly let out the air he didn't know he had been holding. Looking back on the road he determined that he wasn't that far out from Vol'jin's Pride. In his hurry to get out he didn't take weapons or armor. Careless. But, indeed, sometimes he didn't care. He could afford that, for a little while maybe, to balance out. 

_"Promise me…" Nyquist said, the moon shone in his raven hair. "If one of us dies… The other must go on. Start again, try to be happy. I promise you," his voice wavered here and Junre took him in his arms, kissed him, slowly, like so many times before._

_Nyquist took his face and made him look at him, at his eyes. He seemed solemn, serious, a rare sight._

_Junre nodded._

_"I promise," he told him then, because he thought he could conquer the world._

It had been _unfair_. 

The fabric felt sticky against his back and wasn't sure if it was blood again, or sweat. His skin was clammy and he didn't have the energy to try to counter that. Those damn wounds wouldn't properly heal and would reopen with every nightmare, even though it had been a while since the last one. He always wondered if they were part of her shadow magic or if it was something more mundane, like a mere physical manifestation of his depression.

He went up a hill and found a place from where he still could overlook the camp and where he couldn't be taken off guard. He was weirdly proud his basic instincts didn't fail him even now, stuck in the darkest place. 

He sat on the grass and passed his hand over it feeling the softness of it. In his mind there was dark hair between his fingers, too, and kisses; memories of happier times. 

The trees were silent around him. An eerie peacefulness. He looked at the moons, the alien sky, and felt out of place.

 _Wasn't that what you wanted?,_ he told himself, and it sounded bitter. 

He let his face fall in his hands and wept. 

* * *

He wasn't aware of how much time had passed but when he heard the first branch snap instincts kicked off and he was on his feet. 

Calling his inner blood, all the grass around him turned a crimson colour, rapidly decaying and dying under the moon's light and the area extended more and more killing all living things in its path. Maybe he didn't have a weapon but damned be the one who dared attack a veteran Death Knight. 

"Ow, ow, stop, stop it! It's me!," a familiar voice and a soft noise over the bushes in front of him made him react and he called the area off. 

"What the hell, Kalethis!" 

He ran to the bushes in time to see Kalethis standing up and brushing leaves off his shirt and breaches. Junre took him roughly by the arm. 

"Did it get to you?!" he asked vehemently as he examined the priest. Aside from leaves still all over him he seemed to be fine.

"No, no! Don't worry… I… shielded myself before it reached me," Kalethis eyed him warily, not moving. “I just fell trying to get back and…” He looked unsure about what to do. 

Junre let him go and sat in the ground, sighing angrily. He passed a hand over his hair. It felt damp.

"Don't… ever do that again,” he started. “Fucking Fel, I could have killed you, Kale!”

Kalethis sat beside him, with controlled motions, as if Junre was about to hit him off or flee. Junre would have found it funny if it weren’t for the fact that he was too turmoiled still to feel anything else. 

“I’m sorry,” Kalethis said softly after a while.

Junre kept silent. It probably felt like an invitation to Kalethis to continue, so he did:

"When I went back to my own bed I passed near yours…, " he paused, as if wanting to add something more, and coughed. "Anyway, I saw your bed was empty and, well, that didn't worry me that much.

But then I saw the bloodied shirt… " he trailed off, looking at Junre. 

Junre sighed. Adrenaline levels were low again and he felt tired. 

"It's… hard to explain." 

Kalethis tried to look at him, even if Junre had kept his gaze low, hands on his legs. Junre still avoided it. The priest put a hand on his arm and squeezed, reassuringly. 

"Then don't," he said softly. "But as your healer, I worry if I see you are hurt." 

Junre felt like crying again. 

Instead, he slowly started to take his shirt off and let Kalethis take a look at his back. The priest moved and he heard a sharp intake of breath. 

"Can I…?," he asked. Junre nodded. 

He noticed Kalethis taking out bandages from his pouch, and also a water canteen. He examined the wounds without touching. 

"They look like they should be closed. But they aren't… ," he muttered. Junre thought he just said that aloud but it wasn't directed to him in particular. "I don't think they need magical healing,but we should disinfect them… "

Junre saw Kale wet some fabric and move to his back. He winced when the cold water poured over his wounds, over his back. 

"Sorry," said Kalethis. 

"It's fine." 

He sat there, in silence, moons bright enough to not need any other source of light, while Kalethis cleaned his wounds and Junre thought it was a bit like cleaning his inner turmoil. He wondered distantly if Kalethis knew how his care, his presence, made him feel better. He was relaxed. 

After a while the priest broke the silence. 

"I should take a closer look in the morning," he said. "I think, maybe they have a magical source but I need more light to be sure.." 

"I'm not… sure about it, myself," Junre began, a bit unsure of what he wanted to say. "They have a dark shaman origin." 

"Oh." Kalethis sounded unsure too. 

"It was a whip, when…" Junre said and he suddenly stopped, voice gone. He thought he smelled sulfur again. 

"It's fine," he thought he heard Kalethis say, softly, reassuring. "You don't have to say anything". His voice sounded far away among the clash of chains, of rock, far below… 

_No_ , he thought. _No, I have to._

He concentrated in Kalethis' presence, in his aura, that always felt like a balm, even though he couldn't bear looking at him right now. He closed his eyes and the sounds, the smell, receded in his mind. 

"No," Junre said, his voice low but steadier. "Maybe I need to do this" 

Kalethis moved then and sat by his side again. Junre glanced at him sideways, not really wanting to look at him directly. He didn't want to see the pity in the priest's eyes. He have had enough for himself. 

He took the shirt again and put it on, carefully to not disturb the recently treated wounds. 

"It happened under the Siege of Orgrimmar, " he began. "We were trapped there when Garrosh came back. Given we weren't orcs we were taken as slaves at the Underhold and, once there, we were but lab rats for the experiments his Dark shamans did there… I'm not sure how many days we were there..." 

_How many days, now?_

He took a deep breath. Kalethis just stood beside him, not saying anything. 

"Nyquist, my husband…," he stopped, again. It felt like years since he said his name aloud, loved, and it hurt. More than any other wound. 

It was unfair. It had been unfair. 

He noticed Kalethis' hand, in his arm, strong, calm, and it felt like an anchor. 

"He was so… reckless," he continued and smiled sadly, fondly. "He never lost hope". 

"One day, though. I'm not sure how it happened because I was far, working in another section. I wish…" Junre negated with his head. _Wishes are for fools._

"They accidentally killed a goblin girl… Killings, they had happened before but that one… It made all of them actually move and rise arms. And Nyquist… " his voice broke, a bit. 

"He…he saw the chance and rallied them, and it seemed like they could…" he shivered, and felt the sweat, the heat, the helplessness. "But she was there too. The Dark Shaman. I tried… I tried to stop her. "

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadying himself. 

"I was late," his gaze fell to the ground. "She took him down and the riot died. He wasn't… he was still alive when I got to him and gathered him into my arms." 

"She felt my intromisión like an insolence, maybe, and she hit me with her whip. Hard and again. I couldn't… He was still alive and I had to protect him because maybe, maybe I could, they could…" he knew his words were rushed. Like he couldn't stop and he needed to get this out, quickly, for it to be over. 

He paused, though and breathed deeply, once, twice. Kalethis did not even move. 

"But none would help us, when she went away. They feared her too much, and his life escaped between my fingers, until he…"

He felt like drifting away, again, so he covered the hand Kalethis had in his arm with his own hand, grounding himself in the priest’s presence. A gust of wind blew, making the leaves agitated, and lowered the heat he was feeling. 

"Sometimes, tonight, I have this nightmare, and we… were there. Again. And I fail. Again." He felt the bitterness in his tongue, like a real taste. "The wounds open up when I feel distressed about it…" 

Junre looked up at the sky. He focused on his hand, still on top of the priest, his own skin warm. 

_You are warm now._

_It's a trigger._

"But the worst dreams, though, are when we win." Words were harder now. "And he is alive. And then I wake up and think… This, this reality…" His breath hitched. "This reality is my nightm-"

He couldn't continue. He squeezed Kalethis' hand, hard. He thought he was falling again and the rock was over him, trapping him below, below. And Nyquist was with him, his voice forever silenced. He couldn't breathe, he felt the tears welling up, making the moons blurry. He was falling and breaking down and-

But what he felt, instead, was Kalethis' warm embrace, that firmly but gently, much like everything Kalethis did, took him into his arms. 

Junre grabbed the priest's shirt like he was drowning and his life was on the verge, and let himself be held, welcoming it, for once. He rested his head in Kalethis' shoulder and a sob wrecked his body and then he couldn't fight it anymore. 

"I know, I know…," Kalethis was saying, his breath warm in his ear, and he thought the priest's voice was fierce and also broken. "I’m sorry you… I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know what is to lose someone you love so much… " Kalethis trailed off and didn't say anything more, but made the embrace tighter. 

Junre wasn't sure how long they stayed like this. Two broken men in a foreign world, supporting each other. Kalethis' hand rested on the back of his head, softly caressing his hair and maybe finding his own solace in the touch, letting him pour everything down. 

Anchoring him, his only reference, under the trees, under the alien sky. 

* * *

Kalethis’ raw voice in his ear was what got him out of the trance he didn’t know he was in.

“Do you feel better?”

He didn’t want to give up the warmth, but then he knew he somehow wouldn’t lose it even if he let the priest go. It would linger with him, like a shroud.

So he separated himself from Kalethis, slowly. His throat was sore, his eyes itched and he felt the dampness still in his face. He turned his gaze up to look at the other man and he distantly thought he should feel ashamed for all of this, but it was just that, a distant thought. 

Kalethis looked worried and in his eyes could see that he shared his pain. That he lived through it too. 

“I’m sorry, I…” 

“No,” interrupted Kalethis, and even when his eyes still glistened with tears, his gaze was fierce, his voice firm. “No, don’t be sorry for this.”

“None should live through it,” he added softly, looking down.

Junre wondered what happened to him, earlier in his life. He didn’t know what more to say so he put his hand over Kalethis’ in the grass.

But he felt better, indeed. Allowing Kalethis know of his sorrow, voicing it aloud. And the priest welcomed him, shared his pain. It seemed as if there was something new between them, a stronger bond, even if Junre didn’t know of the details of Kalethis’ experience. Some day.

“I wanted to thank you,” Junre said after some moments, and his voice still sounded raw in his own ears. “For doing this... For looking out for me.” And he knew he wasn’t referring only in the physical sense, but not letting him get lost in the night. He hoped the priest knew too.

Kalethis looked up at him and smiled, with that aura of him, and Junre smiled back, thankful, and he felt the clean air, the trees, and the alien sky above.

In his mind, too, Nyquist wasn’t dying in his arms, surrounded by stone and sulfur smells. He was there in Dalaran, smiling, taking his face between his hands, kissing him. Better memories.

 _We promised_ , he thought again. Maybe he was on the right track. 

The dawn came with a yellow thread all over the horizon and it grew, making the trees appear golden.


End file.
